


The Easy Part

by Mohnblume



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25836652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohnblume/pseuds/Mohnblume
Summary: It’s fashion week.It’s fashion week, and Andy hasn’t worked for Miranda for five years.It’s fashion week, and Andy is worried, like every year since she quit abruptly in Paris.Miranda might be ruthless, demanding the most from her every employee, but her perfectionism had never applied to anyone more than herself. The silver haired woman pushes herself harder than anyone else.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 18
Kudos: 207





	The Easy Part

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote quickly from a plot bunny I had. I hope you enjoy.

It’s fashion week. 

It’s fashion week, and Andy hasn’t worked for Miranda for five years. 

It’s fashion week, and Andy is worried, like every year since she quit abruptly in Paris. 

Miranda might be ruthless, demanding the most from her every employee, but her perfectionism had never applied to anyone more than herself. The silver haired woman pushes herself harder than anyone else. 

Mostly, it gets results. There’s a reason Miranda is the boss and it’s because she does her work, and she does it well. But sometimes, when things get stressful, she forgets that she’s human too. She forgets to eat, to sleep, to rest. And Andy isn’t not there to know this and slip her little reminders. Just a sandwich on the corner of her desk, or a passing remark about finally going home to sleep.

So, Andy’s a little worried about the editor. She always does, especially after leaving the woman how she did, and getting the most effective letter of recommendation there ever was. 

Things have been going well at her new job at The Mirror, and she’s a fully fledged reporter now. Maybe she feels a little indebted. Or maybe she really does just care about the impossible woman.

Either way, it’s fashion week and Andy can’t get Miranda out of her head. For seven long days, she’s at war with herself, wondering if this is the year she cracks, and goes to see the editor. 

After the last day, when she knows Miranda will be back in the office, back to the daily grind, it turns out this is the year. It’s been long enough, she figures, that Miranda is hopefully not angry with her anymore. 

She’ll take her chances.

It feels better than it should, her decision. She knows she’d been half in love with the woman, but it’d never happen and she’s content with that now. Maybe they can finally have something like a friendship now that Andy no longer works for her. She’s no longer a nobody. She’s a published reporter, and well, she really does want to see Miranda. 

Deciding that it might be easiest to come with lunch, she set out getting Miranda’s favorite salad and a sandwich for herself. It doesn’t take long; she still remembers exactly how she takes her salad.

On her way Miranda, the nerves set in. Yes it’s been some time, but can Miranda really forgive her? Is she even free for lunch? 

Shaking her head at herself, Andy pulls into the parking garage. It’s now or never, and if Miranda throws her out, it’s really not going to change much in her life. She can be brave about this.

The security guard at the door is luckily the same as she remembers. He lets her through without the normal interrogation, and all that’s left is to slip past Miranda’s new assistants. Which shouldn’t be too hard, because really, she’s here with lunch for the editor and that makes their lives easier. 

She’s prepared for the silence on Miranda’s floor. She remembers countless days where she’d sat at her desk with soft typing sounds the only noise in the room. 

“I’ve just brought some lunch for Miranda,” she calls out as she moves quickly to the editor’s office door. Speed is key here, go before they can stop her.

She’s not prepared for the way the two women’s eyes snap to the bag in her hand, both chorusing, “Miranda doesn’t eat lunch.”

Andy whirls around to stare at the serious expressions on the new assistants’ faces. She doesn’t know why they’d lie about something like that, but it doesn’t make sense. She very vividly remembers Miranda’s daily lunch order, usually something healthy, and the pain of getting it during the lunch rush.

The assistants aren’t giving her any answers, just looking at her, waiting for her to back down. But she’s made it this far, and in all honesty, she’d rather just ask Miranda herself. 

She doesn’t bother knocking, just opens the door and walks in. It’s really rather surprising, actually, because Miranda rarely closed her door, only when she was in a meeting. 

And there she is. Miranda Priestly, editor of Runway, Dragon Lady. At first glance, she looks just as she did five years ago. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, and her tailored suit looks flawless and expensive. 

Andy opens her mouth to announce her presence and lunch, when she realises something. Miranda hasn’t noticed her yet. The door opened, Andy walked in without knocking, and Miranda didn't notice. 

Then she really looks at the editor. She takes in the slump of her shoulders, the way her head is resting on her hand as she looks at the papers in front of her, almost like she doesn’t quite have the strength to keep it up. 

So maybe it’s a bad day. It’s just after fashion week, after all. But then she notices the raised bumps of Miranda’s ribs on her chest and her heart stops. 

Miranda has always been slender, but not quite model thin, with her soft curves. Now, looking at her hands that appear more bone than flesh, Andy thinks she’s gone straight past skinny to something deadlier. 

She looks unhealthy, and all Andy wants to do is get some food in her and tuck her into bed. Miranda’s head is down, her hair obscuring most of her face, but she knows that there will be heavy bags under her eyes, and the shimmer of makeup that the older woman uses to cover them up. 

“Miranda.” 

The silver haired woman looks up to her, squinting slightly. The movement is sluggish, nothing like the quick, snappish movements she remembers. 

“Andrea?” 

Her name is laced with so much confusion that Andy’s heart pulls her forward, wanting to give some form of comfort. She was right, there are dark circles under dulled blue eyes, and the expensive creams and powders can’t hope to hide it all. 

“I-I brought you some lunch. I know it’s a stressful time and I thought, well, I know you’d always forget to eat when it gets stressful and…” She shrugs, taking the salad out of the bag. 

Miranda stiffens. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Really? Because your assistants just told me that you don’t eat lunch anymore.” 

The words come out sharper than she means, more accusatory. She winces, and softens her voice. 

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ve brought a salad for you, just as you like it. How you used to like it. I thought we could catch up.”

She takes a seat at one of the chairs across from Miranda and tries not to stare at her hollow cheeks and sunken in eyes. Unwrapping the sandwich, she takes a bite and nudges the salad closer to the older woman. 

Apparently Miranda has forgotten how to deal with her, because she simply sits and stares, watching her take a few bites of her food. She’s still holding a pen in her hand, and it shakes slightly.

“Miranda?” 

She shakes her head. “Yes, sorry. This is very...thoughtful.”

Andy pauses. Miranda has never apologized to her. Not once in her entire time at Runway has Miranda ever apologized to her, for anything. 

“What’s going on?”

This probing question spurs something in the editor. 

“There is nothing ‘going on’,” she nearly snarls. 

Which, fair, Andy kind of set herself up for that. But Miranda hasn’t moved to take the salad, and the frailness of her body is more than enough evidence to suggest that everything is not alright.

She decides to risk another question. 

“Are you...are you sick?” she asks, trying to keep her tone as soft and light as possible. 

This time, Miranda’s head does snap up, and her eyes seem more clear than they have been the whole time. 

“I don’t have cancer or any wild and unlikely disease that your overactive imaginative mind has conjured up.”

Those piercing blue eyes are pinning her in place now, and Andy knows that something is terribly wrong. That much she knows, but it’s not clear what exactly it is. And while she’s never had much patience, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly Miranda can get under her skin, even as she’s trying to be nice to the woman. 

But Miranda is all thorns and barbs on her good days, and Andy is more than used to dealing with them, even after all this time. So, instead of taking the bait, she simply sighs and tries again. 

“Miranda. What’s going on with you? It doesn’t take a genius to see that you haven’t been eating. What’s not clear is why. If you’re not sick, what is it?”

Instead of relenting and actually _talking_ about it like any normal person would, the older woman snaps back with, “You don’t work for me, why should you care?”

That’s all it takes for Andy to lose what little patience she has left. She explodes, “Is it so hard to believe that someone would care about you without being paid for it?!”

“Yes!” Miranda all but yelled. It was an admission, and the silver haired woman winces before slumping down in her chair. 

“Well believe it, because something is up with you and I’m not leaving until I find out what,” Andy declares, leveling the editor with a soft glare. 

Miranda seems tired now, as if the short argument had taken up all of her energy. 

“I’m not sick,” she begins, her empty eyes wandering aimlessly around the office, “I’m fine. Of course I am. And if I weren’t, there’s no one here to worry.”

Sensing an opening, Andy prods once more, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Eating disorder. I’ve had it since I was a girl.” Miranda looks back to Andy, her expression closing off to a blank stare. “There. Now you know what’s going on. You may take your leave.”

Andy thinks back to the sharp comment about her own size all those years ago, and wonders why she had never noticed. Suddenly the obsessively healthy lunches make more sense. And thinking back to Emily’s obsession with cheese, of course no one noticed, it must be normal behavior in the fashion industry. It must be hell for Miranda. 

“God, Miranda, are you seeing someone about this? A therapist? What about the girls? Surely they’ve noticed something. Why isn’t anyone doing anything?” 

Miranda ignores most of her questions. “The girls are in college. I rarely see them these days, and I am _fine._ ”

Lies. “Okay, so the girls are gone, is that what’s causing this? Is it the stress? I know Emily’s working in design now and Nigel is working in Paris, but what about your new assistants? Are they not doing their job well? And you used to see a therapist, what about her?”

“Andrea. I’m fine. Just a silly old woman who never resolved her teenage problems. Please leave me be.”

It’s the first time Andy remembers the other woman saying ‘please’ for anything. It’s shocking, but she can’t dwell on it. There are more pressing matters.

“How can you say that? You need help, Miranda. Why haven’t you reached out to anyone?” 

“And who do you suggest I tell?” Miranda snaps, her voice growing more bitter with each word. “My daughters? Make them quit school to take care of their foolish mother? My assistants? So that they have to work even harder than they already do? Or Nigel, who’s already managing his own branch of Runway. He doesn’t need to worry about my idiotic tendencies too!”

By the end of her short tirade, Miranda’s chest is heaving, with tears sparking in her eyes. It’s easier than Andy would have ever guessed to ignore the acerbic tone and sharp words.

It still feels like a miracle when Andy’s response comes out calmly and quietly. “It doesn’t have to be so dramatic. They care about you.”

Those must be the right words, because Miranda deflates. Slumped down in her chair, she looks even smaller than before and Andy takes a chance. She rounds the desk, and crouches in front of the silver haired woman.

“Let me help you,” she whispers. “I know I missed a lot, and maybe I never really knew you. But let me know you now. Let me help. I’m here.”

…

Recovery is a journey. At first, it’s all icicles and knives, cutting words, and insincerity. Miranda has never been the easiest at accepting anything she doesn’t do herself. This is no exception, and sometimes Andy just wants to pull her hair out, and shake sense into the older woman.

Therapy helps. As part of her promise to help Miranda, Andy finds a very discrete, very specialized therapist named Hilda. Hilda is the exact mix of no nonsense and softness, and was instrumental in breaking through Miranda’s many, many walls. Hilda sees her twice a week for the first year, and sends her to a dietitian. 

Two years into their newfound friendship, Andy finally asks Miranda out. It’s a month after Miranda has gone down to once a month sessions with Hilda. The older woman is eating a slice of pizza, with a fork and knife, but she’s smiling. Really, genuinely smiling, with her teeth and her perfect red lips. Andy never stood a chance. 

Three years after that, they get engaged. And a year after that, they get married. It’s the perfect mix of cliche, elegant, and the special brand of awkward that Andy has perfected. 

They have a moderate sized house with a sprawling kitchen, because Miranda has really learned to cook. They bicker almost constantly, but kiss just as much. 

It’s not always easy. Some days, Andy comes home to an empty refrigerator, and a stiff, snippy wife. She’s learned how to be firm, but gentle. 

Sometimes it’s more subtle. Sometimes it’s just a little more leftovers, a stimulating conversation at dinner, and the shadow of a scale in the dark corners of Miranda’s home office. Those days are more difficult to navigate. 

But they prevail. Andy comes to therapy, and they work on it. They learn how to give and take, to take care of each other the way they each need. It’s not always easy, but neither of them have ever expected it to be easy. 

They love. 

That’s the easy part.


End file.
